


Nothing to do with you

by StormXPadme



Series: "Tales Untold" & "Tales Beyond": (Don't) Need-to-know [4]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Amon Ereb, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Age, Gen, Murder Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:41:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24944791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormXPadme/pseuds/StormXPadme
Summary: Maitimo is afraid of storms. So are Macalaurë's foster sons.***While this oneshot is part of my main verse, it's not necessary to know any of the other parts to understand it.
Relationships: Elrond Peredhel & Maedhros | Maitimo, Elrond Peredhel & Maglor | Makalaurë, Elros Tar-Minyatur & Maglor | Makalaurë, Maedhros | Maitimo & Maglor | Makalaurë
Series: "Tales Untold" & "Tales Beyond": (Don't) Need-to-know [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2125545
Comments: 12
Kudos: 84





	Nothing to do with you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JazTheBard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JazTheBard/gifts).



> Created out of a tumblr meme of dialogue writing prompts by JazTheBard; prompt: We’ve got some straightening out to do.

“We’ve got some straightening out to do.”

After the third knock, Macalaurë just enters. In the last years, he’s lost patience with going easy on Nelyo more and more. The younglings are finally - _finally_ \- asleep, and with a storm like that, there for once isn’t much to take care of or to guard in the last intact ruins of their fortress. There won’t be a better chance anytime soon to try and talk some sense into that bitter bastard, his brother has turned into.

“Now is really not the best time, Kano.”

If possible, Nelyo withdraws just further into his dusty corner, with his knees drawn up and the covers wrapped around his haggard body. He’s having the hated brace on, which means, his shoulder is giving him more trouble than usual again. There’s not a single candle lit in the whole room. Only the lights outside the window are mirrored ghostly in the silver of Nelyo‘s eyes. Storm nights are always bad, Macalaurë knows that. They’re too much like Angband.

Distraction is the best remedy against fears like that. It has to be now; in the morning, Nelyo will be gone again before the sun comes up, for hours and hours, disappearing into the surroundings of the hill without anyone knowing what he’s up to, and if and when he will be back.

Macalaurë is getting sick of being left alone with the responsibility for their lands, their people, their _legacy_. Their oath.

“It never is a good time for you. Not all of us have the luxury to run away and hide. We need to talk about this, Nelyo. Everyone else in the fortress certainly is. The twins are old enough to start hearing everything. Do you really want them to learn about our deeds from rumors?”

“How is that my problem again? _You_ wanted this. I told you to leave them to their fate.” The last of Nelyo’s venom is mercifully drowned out by the roar of thunder outside, too close, too loud; even Macalaurë startles for a moment.

When he looks back to the bed, Nelyo has pulled the old wool cover up to the tip of his nose.

The thick layer of ice covering the part in Macalaurë‘s heart, reserved for the last of his brothers still alive, gets at least a few cracks. Yes, hey have both done unspeakable things, and with Findekáno, the last of Nelyo’s impulse control and most of his sociability skills has died. But Nelyo’s distance and hostility towards the twins doesn’t spring from hatred.

“I’m just as afraid as you are to lose them. That’s why I don’t want them to learn it from others, what we did. They will hate us either way, but if we find the right words, there’s a chance, they won’t be running away. Do you want them alone out there, is that it? To be caught by the next best orc patrol? You could have had that much easier.”

When Nelyo keeps up his aggressive silence but at least doesn’t try to throw him out, Macalaurë dares to sit down by his bedside. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. For a moment, he feels just as helpless as all those years back when he’s learned, his brother survived his torture and came to see him for the first time. Today, it’s not the fear of breaking something that keeps him from even touching Nelyo‘s shoulder. Touching Nelyo has become too much like falling through a hole in the ice.

“We both know, you could have killed them on the spot or just refused to take them in. This is still very much your fortress. They’re both our responsibility. I’m not asking you to love them as your own, Nelyo, but I need you on this.”

“For what? I think we’ve had our share of kinslayings, and they’ve charmed the rest of our people too much to send them away now. Everything else is your job.” From the way, Nelyo shifts his arm under his little nest, Macalaurë knows, he’s rubbing over the scars of his stump, another aggrieving reminder in nights like this, of everything they’ve lost since they left their true home behind.

Macalaurë is lucky enough to still be able to enjoy the memory of the good, and not only grieve it. “It used to be yours. And you did very well, as I recall.”

“Truly, marvelous, if you count the number of our dead siblings a win.” The harsh laugh on Nelyo‘s lips turns into a wince as the next bolt outside flashes in his eyes, glowing on the faint scar almost splitting his face in half.

“I’m still here, am I not?” Macalaurë doesn’t wait for an answer that he’s not sure he could deal with anyway. He’s seen enough. Ignoring Nelyo’s weak resistance, he lifts the covers and slips into the bed with his older brother, for the first time since they were elflings.

With Nelyo’s head buried against his chest, Macalaurë‘s slightly clumsy fingertips threading through the too short, too stringy hair that was once a glorious fiery fleece, it’s easier to pretend not knowing.

It’s not enough, _he_ never was enough for Nelyo, but now there’s no one else. Now they only have each other, and if they lose that too … Then Macalaurë doesn’t know where that damn oath will take him, that seems to be the only thing still binding them together.

He doesn’t want _that_ to be their legacy.

“Just help me with this,” he murmurs when Nelyo’s trembling has gone down a little, and at least this time, there’s no vigorous head-shaking answering. “Afterwards, you can right go back to pretending you hate them, I promise.”

“I don’t hate them.” Nelyo starts to sound tired, much to Macalaurë’s relief. “They’re everything we never had, that’s all. Everything we can never be again.”

“We can, though. Through them. If we make sure, they don’t become like us. Just try, Nelyo, that’s all I’m asking.”

“I can’t lose anyone else. My heart is hanging on by a string.” Nelyo wipes the tear away before it can fall. It’s the first and only time that they _almost_ talk about his late husband, and even now, he refuses to cry in Macalaurë’s presence.

That’s alright, that’s one of the few things they can still agree about. They’re far beyond tears at this point.

“What difference does it make? Do you really think there is any way for us still that doesn’t lead into doom?”

“That’s not fair. _I’m_ the cynical bastard here.” It’s a bad excuse of a joke, but it’s better than tears, at least.

Then, Nelyo stiffens against him though, because the quiet scurrying of four swift, naked feet, outside on the bare rocky ground of their halls, is approaching. So much for the twins sleeping.

“Come,” Macalaurë’s softly shouts outside before Nelyo can protest. No time like the present for change.

The twins visibly don’t know what to make out of the sight of the two of them when they enter. It’s once again Elros leading the way, raven hair sleep-mussed and eyes wide-awake.

He’s had a growth spurt in the last weeks, and Elrond makes use of that to hide behind him, as usual in situations that unsettle them. Always watching, estimating and more than once judging from the background before speaking up.

Today it’s Elrond though, who speaks first for a change, his brother too embarrassed by the reason for their late visit. “The storm is too loud, ada Macalaurë. It’s so close! What if it hits us?”

“Not in here. Come here. It’s alright.”

But it’s not alright. The twins are just as clever as perceptive, especially for their young age, and Nelyo has become hard as a rock next to him, expression motionless, as if that whole conversation a minute ago had only been a bad dream.

Macalaurë sighs and gets up, after another encouraging squeeze of Nelyo‘s shoulder. Another time maybe. Some things can’t be forced.

Taking one twin on each hand, he almost has them out the door, when Elrond takes a shy look back over his shoulder. Something in the way, Nelyo has gone back to his former curled up, defensive position, eyes fixed, wide-open, at the window, seems to move something in the elfling, Macalaurë doesn’t see for the first time, and it’s definitely not something, he’s learned from him.

Before Macalaurë really understands what’s going on, Elrond has pulled away from him and hurried to the bed to put something on the mattress next to his much-feared uncle. It’s the stuffed seagull he usually never leaves out of his sight.

“Heleth-mŷl can sleep with you tonight, Nelyo. He’s not afraid of the storm. He’ll take care of you.”

Nelyo is visibly overwhelmed from the sudden change of mood and at a loss for words, but luckily, he doesn’t need to say anything.

Elrond is already running back to them to get back in his warm bed, tired enough hopefully, just like his brother, to fall back asleep soon. They’re both yawning openly as it is.

When Macalaurë closes the door behind them, the last he sees is the stuffed animal sitting on Nelyo‘s pillow. It’s not exactly a replacement for the elf he’s shared his bed with for way too short a time, but maybe it’s a reminder that in spite of everything the two of them did wrong, they are still capable of giving and receiving love. That the oath hasn’t turned every inch of their hearts to mithril just yet.

If that’s all Nelyo will take away from the surely preciously short time they’ll have with their forster sons, that’s more than Macalaurë could have hoped for.

**Author's Note:**

> * ada = father


End file.
